


predilection

by burlesquecomposer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bruce Banner-centric, Bruce is pining if you squint, Gen, M/M, werewolf bruce banner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesquecomposer/pseuds/burlesquecomposer
Summary: Bruce has a dangerous secret—and a nosy roommate.*Request!





	predilection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CapeVerdeGiantSkink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapeVerdeGiantSkink/gifts).



> Commission request from Heather, who wanted werewolf!Bruce and Tony. The lycanthropy in this is vague but somewhat loosely based on general/common lycanthropy.

When Bruce gets a knock on his door before the latch clicks open, he glances up to see a saran-wrapped plate. Tony waggles it before the rest of him comes through.

“Bruce.”

“Yeah?”

“Thor made this _amazing_ chocolate zucchini bread,” he says. “Want some?”

Bruce stares at it a moment, trying not to tense at the sight of it, the _smell_ , before he returns to poring over the work on his desk. “I’m good.”

“What?”

“I said I’m good.”

“But _Thor_ made it.”

Bruce sighs and takes his glasses off—which is better, actually, since he doesn’t need them anymore. He can see Tony more clearly now. There’s an open playfulness in his large eyes, a tiny knit in his brow, a guarded desperation to get Bruce to play with him. Like some kind of cat, desperate for companionship but unwilling to be direct about it. His hair is messy, pushed back.

Bruce offers a reluctant smile, tiny and tired. “Look, Tony. He gave me some earlier. Special, just for me.”

Tony sours. “That bastard. Knew he liked you more.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce murmurs, eyes glued to his studies. “Everyone does.”

He falls quiet, focusing deeply on the papers before him, though he doesn’t register what’s on them. He scribbles some gibberish in pencil that he can erase later. Only when a somewhat exasperated Tony has finally left and shut the door behind himself can Bruce relax into his chair and nurse the throbbing in his temple.

Distance is good, he thinks.

 

~

 

On the morning of a full moon, Bruce’s fourth, Tony invites him to a bar party.

“How many excuses are you going to give me?”

Bruce splashes water on his face in the sink. “The same one,” he says. “I’ve got exams. The internship. I’m busy, I can’t just… shove everything aside so you can steal my night _and_ my morning.”

He can almost hear the roll of Tony’s eyes in his voice. “Your last hangover wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Bruce glances up into the mirror and nearly jumps. His irises are glowing, and there’s red in the whites. He shoves his face into a towel to dry off and press out the color. Apparently, Tony hasn’t seen anything, too busy tilting his head back to finish off his coffee.

“Come on. It’ll be fun. Good chance to make new friends—well, sorry,” he clarifies. “Make… friends.”

“I have friends!”

“Thor doesn’t count. Thor is everyone’s friend.”

“Natasha?”

“No one’s friend.”

“Steve, then.”

“Rogers?!” Tony shakes his head and tugs off the shirt he slept in to change. (A rarity.) Bruce lets himself glance for just a moment. “You hang out with him by choice? God. Can’t stand the guy.”

“You?” Bruce raises a brow, incredulous. “ _You?_ Can’t stand _Steve?_ You can’t—oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’re _insufferable._ ”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tony says, shouldering his bag once he’s dressed. “And _Steve Rogers_ is a self-righteous prick.”

Bruce snorts. “Unbelievable.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” Tony toes into his shoes and spins his keys on his finger. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“I need everyone to see me in your Audi convertible like I need a hole in the head, but thanks.”

“I’m hurt,” Tony says plainly.

He heads down the rest of the hallway. Bruce thinks to himself for a moment, then pokes his head out from the bathroom just before the apartment door closes.

“Your shirt’s inside out!”

 

~

 

It’s his fourth morning post-full moon. His body hurts so much that he almost doesn’t feel anything.

He made it home, somehow, but missed the shower on his way in. When Bruce can finally peel his eyes open, he sees his arm, draped over the edge of his bed, caked and dusted with dirt. His nails are back to normal from claws but ringed with mud. He prays the tinge of blood-like red is his own.

“What was that about me stealing your night and morning?”

Bruce blinks slowly. When his eyes open again, there’s a glass of something orange in front of his face.

“Talk about a walk of shame,” Tony adds.

Bruce pulls his body up so he can grab it. He stares into the glass first, still groggy, wearing a deep frown as he swirls the orange stuff around.

“What is this?”

“Gatorade.”

Bruce drinks some down. His teeth hurt. “Thought Bloody Marys were more your style.”

“They are,” Tony says. “But I’ve heard some spices aren’t good for dogs, so they’re probably not good for werewolves.”

Bruce chokes.

“Excuse me?!”

“What, is now the time to tell you that you’re _horrible_ at keeping secrets?” Tony smirks. “You’re Captain Obvious. _King_ Obvious. Like, _Teen-Wolf_ -bad at it.”

“Oh my god,” Bruce groans. “How?”

“The party was a lie, I followed you out. The chocolate zucchini bread was a test, too.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Used to it. Finish your Gatorade.”

Bruce nearly chucks the glass at him when he’s done. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Have you looked at your sheets? Actually, don’t—I’ll have them washed, _you_ go shower.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. Tony knows. He doesn’t hate him; at least, it doesn’t seem that way. He doesn’t sound like he’s going to spread the news around. And he doesn’t sound scared, which is weird as hell, until he remembers Tony's common lack of self-preservation instincts.

“Did I hurt anyone?” he asks.

“A few squirrels. You ate two. It was gross.”

“Thank god.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Next time, try rabbit.”

Soon enough, Tony manages to shove Bruce into the shower. He gets to see himself in the mirror—he’s filthy and scratched, and his hair looks like a bird’s nest, twigs and all. He tosses any debris in the sink before he washes down. He lets the shower get hot, steaming up the bathroom and fogging the mirrors, and sighs as the heat relaxes his muscles, limp and sore from the transformation.

Well, he thinks. Secret’s out.

He counts backwards from ten. Breathes. Wipes a circle into the steamy cloud in the mirror. He’s flushed red, but he’s clean, and his eyes look normal.

Secret’s out.

In a way, strangely, it feels good.


End file.
